Caught Like A Fly
by IcarusWing
Summary: Matthew Williams-Jones has never been as outgoing as his brother. But when he's approached by a beautiful woman at a par ty he's been forced to attend, he starts to think that maybe he's not as boring as he thinks... until he discovers her t rue motive, and a terrible secret that t he mysterious Ivan Braginski has been hi ding... Human AU, late 1800s. Oneshot. S light Canada x Ukra


**A/N: Hey y'all, back with a new short story for you. Inspired in part by the fic Parlor Children by Urchin of the Riding Stars, which is awesometastic like everything she writes, so you should stop by and read it. :) My only warning is, the ending isn't pleasant...**

* * *

_Red sand dribbles to the bottom, falling, grain by grain, passing ever slowly, whiling away as it is slowly forgotten._

Matthew stumbles out of the carriage and takes a deep breath, regretting it when he inhales a lungful of invisible ice. He coughs to bring warmth back to his throat, straightening as his brother tumbles out behind him.

"C'mon, Mattie, let's get inside," said Alfred, clapping him on the shoulder and sending him into another coughing fit.

The door opens, spilling light onto the great steps that they hurry up. Warm smells are lost on Matthew's frozen nostrils, but the anticipation is just as great and he breathes a sigh of relief when he passes through the threshold.

"May I take your coats, sirs?" asks the man who opened the door, tucking a strand of shoulder length hair behind his ear.

"Thanks, Toris," says Alfred, flashing him his trademark smile.

They're lead into the large, ornate hall, and Alfred steers him through the crowd. "I've got lots of people to introduce you to, Mattie, everyone's gonna love you, no need to worry about anything!" he says, and Matthew finds that his familiar energetic manner is somewhat of a comfort to him. "You've just got to remember not to piss off anyone, or else you and I will both be in a lot of trouble."

Okay, comfort gone. "Why am I here, Alfred?" asks Matthew, pushing up his glasses despondently.

"You've gotta learn the family business, bro!" says Alfred. "Oh look, there's someone you need to meet!"

"Alfred!"

"Hey, Artie!" he says, immediately reaching in for a hug rather than a handshake, much to Matthew's surprise.

The man pulls away from him, dusting off his suit with a disgruntled (though hardly surprise) expression. "Hay is for horses, Alfred. And my name is Arthur."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," says Alfred, rolling his eyes. "Artie, this is the brother who I've been telling you about!"

"Of course," says Arthur, proffering his hand. "It's lovely to meet you, Mason. Alfred's told me so much about you."

"It's Matthew," says Matthew.

"Yes, that's what I said, isn't it?" He turns to Alfred. "Come along, then. Lars is waiting upstairs, you had better have the stuff…"

"I'll be back in a flash, Mattie!" Matthew watches as Alfred is led away, leaving him stranded in a crowd of strangers.

He slowly gravitates toward the edge of room, apologizing when he knocks into a traveling waiter.

He feels so horribly out of place in his brother's tailcoat, which is too broad for his shoulders. This is Alfred's scene, and he doesn't know what he's doing—for once he's thankful for his inherent plainness, the seemingly unnoticeable air he has about him.

* * *

"It is that time once again."

Katyusha bites her lip, staring at her feet. "Yes, Ivan," she says.

Ivan stares out the window, the full moon shining on him and giving his hair a silver sheen. "There is someone who I would very much like to get rid of," he says, turning to her. "You should have no trouble finding him."

"Yes, Ivan," Katyusha whispers.

"He is rather tall, with hair as gold as the sun and a single curl that doesn't lie flat on his head. His eyes are blue and his spectacles black, and he has a rather unmistakable air about him."

"I will do my best," she says, still unable to meet her eyes.

"Katyusha."

His gentle tone causes her to look up.

"You must remember why we do this, Katya," he says, not without sympathy, as he tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"I know, Vanya," she says, wiping a tear from her eye. "I truly will do my best."

"I can only hope that that will be good enough," says Ivan, turning back to the window.

_Red sand falls faster, grain after grain tumbling onto the small pile beneath it._

* * *

The crowd is thick, and Matthew does what he does best: he watches. There seem to be all manner of people around, from a happy little Italian to the Asian who is stammering an apology and bowing to him.

"It's okay, Kiku," says the Italian, patting the other on the back. "You had no way of knowing that Francis would need it! I just hope he'll give it back this time…" he says sadly.

"I will do everything in my power to return it to your possession, Feliciano-kun," Kiku promises.

_What a strange conversation_, Matthew thinks, wondering what the object in question could possibly be. Perhaps they're speaking of a strange new invention, or a rare and ancient manuscript. Perhaps—

"Hello, stranger."

Matthew instinctively turns, only to find a woman smiling at him. He flushes, smiling all the same. "H-hello," he says hesitantly.

"I don't believe we've met," she says. Her blonde hair is cropped short and kept back by a ribbon that matches her ocean eyes.

"I'm Matthew," he says, adjusting his glasses. "Matthew Williams. I—well—would you like to dance?" he blurts out, cursing himself afterward.

Her smile is as sweet as an orange blossom as she accepts his hand.

"I am Katyusha Braginski," she says as they join the throng of dancers, twirling around with clasped hands.

Matthew concentrates on the steps, almost missing the familiar name. "Braginski?" he asks. "As in Ivan Braginski?"

"He's my brother," she says, and for an instant a hint of sadness appears in her eyes. It vanishes quickly, however, and Matthew doesn't inquire further.

"This must be your home, then," he says, casting an admiring eye around the opulent hall. "It's quite a place."

"If only the winters were warmer," she sighs. "Your accent… you are from America? Are winters there warm?"

"Canada, actually," he says. "They're quite bad, but one endures."

"With a warm hearth and pleasant company one might endure anything, certainly," she says.

"I do suppose one might," Matthew smiles.

* * *

"Do you think it's safe, leaving Marvin alone with those people about?" asks Arthur, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"Matthew," Alfred says. "If he's anything like me, he'll be fine!"

"He doesn't seem to be very much like you at all," Arthur comments. "Why are you trying to drag him into this infernal business, anyway?"

Alfred considers for a moment. He and Matthew were Irish twins, born less than a year apart from one another, and yet Arthur was right. They truly were nothing alike. Alfred was loud and proud and eager to jump into things head first, guns blazing (sometimes literally). But Matthew… Matthew was soft spoken, sensitive, often forgotten about or pushed aside, never the center of attention. And yet they were somehow inseparable, Alfred the flying arrow to Matthew's stable bow, and he hated having secrets.

"It would be good for him," says Alfred finally. "He needs to get out there, meet people, have a bit of fun!"

"Because our job is _so _fun," says Arthur sardonically.

Alfred laughs. "You know you enjoy it. You wouldn't be here otherwise!"

* * *

_DONG._

Matthew looks up, startled, at the toll of the enormous grandfather clock, not believing his ears as he listened to twelve tolls. He could have sworn his arrival had been mere moments ago, rather than hours.

"Oh," says Katyusha, her expression dismayed. "I'd lost track of the time!"

"Is anything the matter?" he asks, eyebrows drawing together. He dislikes seeing her upset.

"I—well…" she bites a well-worn lip as she seems to deliberate. "Matvey," she says, using the Russian diminutive of his name. "Could you come with me? I need your help with something very important."

He can't resist as she pulls him toward the grand stair case. "What do you need me to help you with?" he asks, slightly confused.

"You will see," she says, as she leads him down a hall. The travel through the mansion, around corners and up many flights of stairs, before stopping in front of a large door.

By this time, Matthew has grown quite concerned over Katyusha's silence. "Is anything the matter?" he asks tentatively.

"Could you open that door for me?" she asks imploringly. "It's very difficult to get unstuck."

He struggles with the knob for a moment, before it gives way. He steps into the room, squinting to make out anything in the gloom.

There appears to be a window on the far side of the room, though the floor length curtains have been drawn shut. As his eyes adjust he takes another step.

_Squish._

He looks down and tries to lift his foot, but finds that it's stuck to the floor. He wiggles it, but only succeeds in getting it even more entangled in the sticky white fibers that he now notices liter the floor and fall from the ceiling.

His other foot gets stuck as well, and he fails his arms as he tries to free himself, getting his arm caught on a white sheet of the stuff extending from the ceiling. He turns around as much as he can in panic. "K-Katyusha, help me!"

_Red sand is flowing freely now, the pile beneath it growing larger by the minute._

The tears that she has been holding back are flowing freely now, and she clutches her arms to her chest. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says, her eyes begging for his forgiveness. "I had to, I didn't have a choice—"

"Katya?" says another voice. It's owner steps next to her in the door way, watching poor Matthew as he struggles. "Who is this?"

Katyusha looks up at him in shock. "You… you do not recognize him, Ivan?" she asks, her voice falling to a whisper.

Ivan, Ivan Braginski, the owner of this mansion, a involved in Alfred's mysterious "business," the man who's antics always seem to put Alfred in a sour mood. Matthew finds himself internally shying away, disliking how close he's standing to Katyusha.

"He looks very much like the man I instructed you to fetch me." Ivan looks him over with a critical eye. "What is your name, child?" he asks, smiling.

"M-Matthew," he says, his voice a hoarse whisper. Ivan's smile is somehow unnerving, terrifying, as though it were masking something cracked and broken beneath.

"Matvey," he says, though it doesn't have the same sweetness as it did from Katyusha's tounge. "Do you know a man name Alfred, Matvey?"

"He's my brother," he breathes, struggling more, in vain.

"Your physical resemblance to him is remarkable," says Ivan, cocking his head, his smile still in place, "though your personality less so."

"Please, help me," says Matthew, wrenching his arm over and over again. If only he could free himself from his jacket and shoes, then maybe…

"Nyet," says Ivan, shaking his head. "You are here now. You know too much, da?"

"I don't know anything, I won't say a word," says Matthew. "I'll do anything, just please help me!"

But Ivan shakes his head. "Natalya!" he calls into the room.

"_Ivan…"_

A jolt runs down Matthew's spine as his head whips around, all senses alert as he stares into the dark room.

"_Big brother…"_

"I have brought you a snack, Natalya," says Ivan cheerfully.

"_Big brother…"_

Matthew watches in terror as an enormous, contorted shadow extends from the ceiling, legs shifting and moving as though they had lives of their own. It's a horrific beast, a gargantuan spider with the torso and head of a beautiful woman.

While her features resemble the people standing in the door way, her expression is animalistic almost, and her fancy purple gown looks almost cartoonish as the skirt is spread over her gorging arachnid form.

"You seem like a sensible young man, Matvey," says Ivan. "You see why I cannot let you go? We must keep sister Natalya happy, and to keep her happy we must keep her fed. I trust you know it is nothing personal." His smile is apologetic.

"Matvey, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Katyusha sobs, clinging to Ivan's arm as he reaches for the door knob, making no move to stop him.

"I do wish it could have been your brother," he says, closing the door with a final, definite _click._

_Red sand comes to a stop, with nothing left to fall into the pitifully small mound._

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, this is why I said it didn't have a happy ending... short and vague, just the way I like it! Review, and don't forget to pop over to Urchin of the Riding Stars' profile! :)**


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